


Can't Get You Out of My Mind

by mag8657



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eliot Waugh's Canonically Huge Dick, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Pining, heavy references to 3x05 A Life in the Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22738123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mag8657/pseuds/mag8657
Summary: “Do you- I mean… what if,” He stopped, and removed his head from its position on Eliot’s shoulder, looking at him “What if we, just once, um.”Eliot laughed softly, a million questions in his eyes “What if we what Q?”Quentin licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry, but kept his eyes firmly on Eliot’s. “Do you think- um. Could I kiss you?”Set after 3x06 and before 3x07. Our idiot boys spend the day together talking about the quest, and not talking about their feelings. Missing scene
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 11
Kudos: 145





	Can't Get You Out of My Mind

Quentin runs a hand down his face after he finishes drying off from the shower. How can he be so tired when he’d just woken up an hour before? His body feels loose from the heat of the shower, but still wound up tight from all of the god damn _stress_ in his life right now. This quest to get magic back feels nearly impossible some days, he thinks as he dresses in jeans and a dark t-shirt. He grabs his hoodie as he leaves the room, pulling it over his head as he starts down the stairs of the cottage.

He’s still fumbling with it as he hits the landing, and his eyes and breath catch as he spots the back of Eliot’s head, sitting on a bar stool just a few feet away. The other man turns around at the sound of his loud footfalls, eyes shifting over his form and looking amused.

“Uh, hey” Quentin says, pushing the hood from his head and trying to smooth his still-damp hair from his face.

“Good morning. There’s coffee if you want any.”

“God, yeah.” He mumbles, headed over to the machine. He keeps his back turned as he adds the creamer, feeling awkward.

“So have you got any magic-saving-quest plans for today?” Eliot asks, taking a bite of his bagel when he finishes

“No- well I don’t think so.” Quentin starts “I’m waiting on word from Jules.” Eliot looks at him, and Quentin shifts his eyes away “And, honestly I think I need a little break. Getting the last key was um. Tough. I think I just need a breather.”

He thinks he sees something like pain cross across Eliot’s eyes but it’s quickly replaced with his normal hard glance, although, when he thinks about it, it hasn’t been quite so hard when the gaze is directed at Quentin for quite some time now.

Eliot clears his throat “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, scrunching his eyebrows

Quentin laughs half-heartedly, rubbing the back of his neck. His hand was warmed by his grip on the mug of coffee and it feels nice, a rarity he appreciates. “I don’t know if I’m capable of talking about most of what happened while I’m even close to sober.”

Eliot stands up, walking briskly to stand right in front of him. “Well. We can fix that real quick.” He says, bringing his hand up to squeeze his shoulder. Quentin’s heart picks up speed automatically, and he wills himself to slow it as Eliot reaches behind him to grab glasses.

“It’s 9 am.” He says with a stare

Eliot only raises an eyebrow in his direction, and Quentin decides to let any argument go. It might be nice to just drink the day away, a nice distraction. So instead, he walks to the other side of the bar and sits on Eliot’s abandoned stool, sipping his coffee where it still rests in between both of hands, the steam rising to his face as he watches Eliot slip into a comfortable rhythm, mixing different liquors and cutting some herb Quentin didn’t pay enough attention to name.

Just a few minutes later, as he’s taking the last sip of coffee, Eliot slides a blue drink over the counter. It looks beautiful, and tastes just as beautiful, as weird as that sounds in his head.

“I still don’t understand how you make alcohol taste so good even without magic.” He tells Eliot as he quickly downs half of it “It was only a taste I put up with in college because it got me drunk.”

Eliot shudders, just a little “Well I yearn to be a master magician just as much as I strive to be a master bartender.” He clicks their glasses together belatedly “May you never have to taste another disgusting drink again.”

Quentin flinches, but tries to hide it, the implications of what he said obviously gone over Eliot’s head, but Quentin’s mind starts racing of a time where Eliot had already done his best to make even the gross Fillorian wines more tolerable, for his sake as much and Q’s. _Fifty years_.

“I think I need another.” He says, finally. Eliot obliges, and soon another drink is being pushed in his direction, and he drinks it even faster than the first.

Suddenly he remembers why he started drinking in the first place, and the pleasant warmth in his stomach turns a little sour. Eliot seems to notice the change, and he grabs a bottle of red wine and new glasses and comes around the bar. “Come on,” he says quietly and starts to walk to the living room. Quentin follows him and they both sit on the couch. After Eliot pours them both a glass of the new drink, he drops the bottle on the coffee table and shifts so that his back is resting against the arm of the couch, and props on of his long legs on the table. Quentin tries to get more comfortable himself, shifting further into the soft cushions.

He takes a deep breath. “So they key. It’s um, it’s called the Depression Key.” He takes a long drink until the glass is three quarters gone “It basically takes the worst parts of you and makes a thing that looks like you and keeps saying all of the most terrible things in your mind. You can’t get rid of it. It’s not like the other keys. Even when you stop touching it the thing is still there, taunting you.” He scoffs

He sees Eliot’s face fall, just a little

“It affects the last person who touched it. It only goes away when someone else hold the key, but Poppy said that her crew all held it and it make half of them kill themselves, and I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I let someone else take it and that happened to them, so I kept it.” He takes a breath, and then a drink “I don’t know how long it was. Days? Maybe a week? I-“ He looks down at his nearly empty glass, feeling both empty and full of tears at the same time, a tight grip in his stomach that was painful, but he continued, quieter.

“I got Benedict to tie me to the mast because I got… close.” A quick glance up to Eliot revealed only a tight mask on the other’s face “Poppy came out eventually, offered to take it for a while, but I didn’t want her to take it and give it to someone else, and I ended up telling her how the keys open doors, and she just- she just took the key and ran. Benedict followed her and ended up with the key.” Quentin took a shuddering breath. “He held it and he couldn’t take it, and he jumped off the boat, with the key, and even without the Other Me there I could hear him mocking me for failing the quest.

“Q, hey,” Eliot said, sitting up quickly, putting the hand not holding his wine glass over Quentin’s knee where he’d pulled in in close to his chest “You didn’t fail. We’re going to get it back. And it’s not your fault, okay?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eyes in an attempt to stave off any potential tears.

“Q.”

“I know! I know. It’s just- it’s…” he couldn’t find the right words, and he sighed, dropping his head to his knees.

Eliot moved his hand from Quentin’s knee to his head, holding him and interweaving his fingers with his hair. “I’m so sorry that happened, Q.” he said quietly.

“It’s not your fault.” Quentin said, lifting his head and looking at Eliot. His eyes were swimming with pain and sadness. Quentin’s treacherous heart hoped he also saw love. But he knew- _he knew_ that Eliot didn’t feel like that. Quentin was _a means to and end._ A way to keep sane while doing an impossible task. A task that was only solved after the literal love of Quentin’s life died and he had to bury him. And then after that he remembered feeling like he’d failed, again (or before? Time travel was weird) by giving Jane the key. He remembered the few years that followed, living in the shack that lost its life the moment Eliot’s did, seeing his grandchildren every few months, but feeling like he had no use to the world, and worse yet, that the last fifty years had been a waste because he just _gave the key away_.

Eliot broke his spiraling train of thought “It may not be my fault but I don’t want to see you suffer”

“Suffering kind of a main point in any quest.” Quentin joked

“That’s bullshit.”

Quentin was struck by the finality of his statement, and tore his eyes away from Eliot’s. He couldn’t bare to look at him right now as his emotions were still running raw, even a few days later.

“Look… I don’t really know what you went through with that thing,” Eliot started as he poured Quentin a fresh glass of wine “But I’d like to help you, in any way I can, Q.”

Quentin’s heart started doing double time again, hoping for the one thing he knew he couldn’t have, but he forced a smile.

“Having you, and your friendship, is all I could ask for.” Quentin said, mostly truthfully. Eliot’s smile flinched, only minuscule, but enough for Quentin to notice. His heart yearned to know if Eliot actually cared for him as he did, but his brain knew that his only hope was to be Eliot’s friend.

Eliot pulls his hand away to regain his regal position on the couch. “So Fray isn’t actually my daughter.” He says plainly

“What?” Quentin exclaims

“Yeah, she’s just another human someone bargained away that the Fairy Queen thought she could use as a spy against us” Eliot took another delicate sip of his wine

“But… she said,”

“Yeah but the Fairy Queen is a massive cunt so who could ever believe her, right?”

“But you were finally trying to be a good dad to her.” Quentin said as he shifted so he was sitting cross-legged on the couch facing Eliot. Something on his face shifted darker as Eliot drank his wine.

“Well I guess I’ll never have to find out how much of a fuck-up I’d be at that particular facet of life.”

“You wouldn’t be a fuck-up El, you already-“ Quentin caught himself, too late, and turned to look around the Cottage, wishing he hadn’t let that slip out. He’d been desperately trying not to talk about their other life. It hurt him, and he knew it made Eliot uncomfortable. The silence resonating around them was proof enough that he’d gone too far with his accidental mention, but truthfully, Eliot _had_ been a good dad. He’d taken care of Teddy so well as a baby, caring and cooing at him to make him giggle. He’d played with him as a child, swinging him around their home and the mosaic, playing hide and seek around the surrounding woods, encouraging him when he wanted to help make patterns to try for the mosaic. As a teenager Teddy had mood swings that Eliot learned to handle masterfully, probably helped by learning to take care of Quentin during his depressive episodes. Eliot had learned how to calm Teddy down and how to get him perked back up to his normal cheerful self. He’d offered advice when Teddy started thinking about moving out, finding his own place with his girlfriend. He’d helped Teddy with his nerves when he wanted to propose to her. Quentin thought he was probably a better dad than even Quentin had been, not that he thought he was a bad dad, but Eliot seemed to adjust perfectly to anything Teddy had ever needed.

The silence had stretched out for too long. “I’m sorry.” Quentin said softly

“It’s okay, Q.” Eliot responded with a forced smile

“So what are you going to do now? Fray’s not your daughter, how does that change things with the fairies?” Quentin asked. Eliot explained to him his and Margo’s plan with the eggs, asking advice on what kind of deal he could make that would finally get the Queen off their backs, and Quentin offered the best advice he could. Eventually the conversation moved onto lighter topics, and even if he looked longingly at Eliot’s figure as we walked back to the kitchen to get a fresh bottle of wine, Eliot didn’t see so who cared. They laughed together as Eliot explained how Margo had automatically grabbed as many eggs as she could carry and how ridiculous it had looked. As the sky started to dim they somehow ended up playing cards. Quentin won. Then he won again. And again. And then Eliot won. And as they continued to play things felt normal, Quentin felt mostly happy, the wine making him feel lose in a way he hardly remembered feeling anymore.

Soon they abandoned their game, glasses abandoned on the table that had been pushed away from the couch. They were on the floor, backs against the couch and legs spread far in front of them. He was starting to feel tired from all the drinking and talking. He rested his head on Eliot’s shoulder next to him.

“Do you think we’ll get it back?” Quentin said lightly, eyes slipping closed as he took a small sip from Eliot’s flask. The other man made a noise in his throat, questioning. “Magic, I mean. Do you think we’ll actually finish the quest?”

“I do.” Eliot said, just as softly. His hand, that had been resting across the seat of the couch, came to rest in Quentin’s hair, rubbing soothing circles that made him feel even more comfortable and tired. “We’ve already come so far. I believe in our group. I believe in you.”

Happy tears pricked at his eyes, but he kept them closed. Like this he could almost pretend they were back at the Mosaic. He was suddenly hit with the memory of them sat in a similar position when Arielle was near bursting with a full belly and Quentin was nervous about being a father. Eliot had sat with him, he had also been nervous, probably more than Quentin, and they had talked about their nerves quietly while Arielle slept in the other room. There had been a single candle illuminating them and Eliot had looked beautiful as he talked about what he wanted to do with their unborn child. All the adventures he’d take them on. They both knew that they probably wouldn’t happen, not when they needed to stay working on the mosaic, but it was nice to indulge in the fantasy. They laughed as they imagined the blunders of fatherhood. They laughed quietly, and when Quentin laughed loudly at a particular idea of what they would have to do if they had a girl and she had her first period, what would they _even do with that_ , Eliot kissed him to quiet him. And then they kissed and laughed into each other’s mouths, Eliot’s hands warm and wrapped in Q’s hair. They kissed and moved to their bedroom, slowly taking off clothes and hands exploring the bodies they’d memorized already. Falling into bed-

Quentin blinked. As he opened his eyes he was reminded of where he was. He felt a little guilty but wasn’t sure exactly why. It felt wrong somehow to think of _that_ when Eliot had made it clear he didn’t feel the same.

But the way he caught Eliot looking at him sometimes made him feel like maybe he still thought about their time together. Like he still wanted it. In this timeline.

He took another sip from the flask and as he handed it back, he let his fingers linger on Eliot’s. The warmth of them sending tingles through his entire body, his heart picking up speed. He felt a twitch in Eliot’s fingers still tangled in his hair and he had a terrible idea. It was a bad idea. He absolutely should not follow through with it. But-

“Hey.” He said, taking shallow breaths.

“Hey.” Eliot responded as he took a drink from his flask, throat working around the fluid. Quentin’s heart picked up speed some more

“Do you- I mean… what if,” He stopped, and removed his head from its position on Eliot’s shoulder, looking at him “What if we, just once, um.”

Eliot laughed softly, a million questions in his eyes “What if we what Q?”

Quentin licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry, but kept his eyes firmly on Eliot’s. “Do you think- um. Could I kiss you?”

There it was. He’d said it. He’d possibly ruined everything, but he’d said it, and he couldn’t take it back. But he didn’t miss the way Eliot’s eyes flicked down as he straightened himself, clearly shocked by the question.

“You-but… we shouldn’t.” Eliot said, licking his own lips, and Quentin pushed on.

“Just once. I can’t stop thinking about it. The other life. And maybe if we do something here, it’ll help me move past it.”

“Q,” he said, letting out a breath

“El, please.”

“ _Fuck_ , _Q_ ”

And suddenly there were lips on his, slick and fast and his heart went into double time. His hands twitched until they came to rest on Eliot’s chest, hard and warm and _home_. Eliot’s own hands had found their place on his neck and his thumbs ran over his jaw. Quentin moaned automatically, unable to stop himself and pushed closer to Eliot. He responded in kind, moving one hand to tangle in his hair, pulling softly and Quentin pulled away with a gasp.

“Eliot,” he said, eyes still closed. But Eliot didn’t let him say anything else, pulling him forward to kiss him again, and, well, he didn’t argue with that. Their lips moved together perfectly, warm and slick, and hours could have passed. Quentin was in bliss, nothing had ever felt as good as this. It was perfect.

He found himself pulling himself up and throwing a leg over Eliot’s and settling himself into his lap. It shifted their heads so Eliot was now leaning up to kiss him, and Quentin didn’t think he’d ever felt as powerful as he did in that moment. He rolled him hips forward and felt Eliot hard against him, and moaned again, breaking the kiss and resting his forehead against Eliot’s, gasping for breath.

Eliot seemed to need a moment as well, his own breath coming short. His hands were on Quentin’s face and his eyes shifted quickly between Quentin’s own. He looked like he wanted to say something, but when he didn’t Quentin rejoined their lips.

He lost track of time after that, the house quiet except for the wet sounds of their lips meeting over and over. None of his memories compared to the reality of how good it felt to kiss Eliot. His hands pulling at his hair, running over his body, squeezing his ass. It was all-consuming. He was drowning in _Eliot Eliot Eliot_ and he never wanted to stop.

His dick however, was becoming a problem.

He broke away from the kiss with a gasp. “Eliot,”

“Upstairs.” Eliot said with shaking breath

“Yeah, yeah.” He replied, but kissed Eliot again. Eliot didn’t stop either, and they continued like that for a few more minutes.

Too soon, Eliot broke away again but he starting mouthing at Quentin’s neck, and he let his head fall back, the new pressure _fucking amazing_ and moaned again. “God, Eliot, you’re amazing.” He confessed

Eliot didn’t let up his licking and sucking, and Quentin’s dick throbbed painfully. He forced himself to remove his body from Eliot’s grasp and stood up, holding out a hand to help Eliot to his feet as well. Once he was standing, Eliot grabbed Quentin’s face between his hands and kissed him once more. His hand slid from his face down his arm to hold his hand, and then Quentin was being pulled in the direction of the stairs, down the hallway to Eliot’s room.

Eliot opened his door and locked it again when they were both inside. Quentin could feel tension building in the lines of his back. He couldn’t have that, not right now, so he turned Eliot back around to face him. Quentin could see the war being fought behind the taller man’s eyes.

“Hey…” he started, but Eliot started talking before he could get anything else out.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, and Quentin’s brow furrowed “I don’t want you to feel like you have to, or-“

“I do. But if you don’t,”

“No, that’s not it. I just…” Eliot’s words faded away

“It’s just this once, right? To uh, get it out of our systems.” Quentin didn’t believe the words as he said them, but his selfish desire to have Eliot at least one last time tried to make his words convincing to Eliot.

“Yeah. Right. Get it out of our system.” Eliot said, and he took a deep breath. Quentin followed suit. They looked at each other for a few seconds, and then Eliot laughed. “I’m not usually awkward about these things.” Quentin laughed with him “One-night stands are basically my discipline.”

Quentin rolled his eyes “Yeah, okay.” He said and then he took a step closer to Eliot, placing his hands on his waist. Eliot’s hand found their place back on his neck, and they were kissing again.

It started slowly this time, tongues exploring each other’s mouths. Quentin couldn’t help but make little noises whenever Eliot kissed him a certain way, but that only seemed to spur him on, doing those things over and over again. It didn’t take long before things became heated once more. Quentin’s hands moved over Eliot’s chest and he began to unbutton his vest. When that was done, he moved the offending fabric away and made his way down the buttons of Eliot’s shirt, only fumbling over some of them when Eliot tugged at his hair. Eventually the shirt was free, and Quentin could finally let his hands roam over the soft hair covering his chest. God he missed this. But it felt new at the same time, which made sense, since they’d never done this in this timeline before, not counting the threesome with Margo years ago. But he could barely even remember that, given the haziness caused by the emotion bottles and the liquor he’d drank.

His thoughts were lost when Eliot starting tugging at his shirt, hoodie lost at some point that evening, and Quentin raised his arms, unfortunately having to stop kissing Eliot so that the shirt could be removed. As soon as it was he dove back in, a hunger for his kiss overwhelming him. As they kissed Quentin pushed Eliot’s own shirt down his arms until it too fell to the floor.

Eliot started walking them both to his bed, and Quentin’s knees buckled as soon as they hit the edge. He shifted himself up to the head of the bed, and Eliot followed, crawling toward him with his arms on either side of Quentin. He had a predatory look in his eyes, and he was so, _so_ hot.

He kissed Quentin again, but only once, and then he moved his masterful lips to his neck, sucking what was sure to be a dark spot against his pulse point, causing Quentin to moan loudly. Eliot’s hips bucked down involuntarily at that, and the pressure only made Quentin moan louder. Eliot’s lips moved lower, kissing down his chest, his stomach, down to his hips. When he nipped at his hipbones Quentin couldn’t stop himself from thrusting up, but Eliot’s large hands held him down. When he looked down his body Eliot’s large eyes were looking back up at him through his lashes, and a warm flush ran through him.

“You look beautiful like this,” Eliot said, and Quentin felt himself flush even more. His breathing was shallow, and he tried to catch his breath as Eliot started working on the button of his pants. He continued kissing his hips as he pulled the zipper down slowly. Soon his pants were being pulled down, and the sight of Eliot so close to his dick, the promise of the image, made him throb painfully. Eliot was still looking at him though, a question in his eyes.

“Please,” Quentin said in a rush of breath.

That was all Eliot seemed to need, and Quentin moaned as Eliot licked the seam of his balls, sucking them as his hand was held firm on his dick. Only a moment later Quentin’s world crashed around him. Everything was gone, black as his eyes squeezed shut, because Eliot had taken him, almost all the way down, in his mouth. He threw his head back, hands fisting in the sheets, overwhelming pleasure as Eliot’s tongue wrapped around his head before he swallowed him down again. Nothing had ever felt as good as this. Everything was perfect, just for a moment, as Eliot worked around him. It was so much, almost too much, waves of pleasure coursing through him with every swipe of Eliot’s tongue.

He could feel himself getting close, and he needed to feel Eliot inside of him before it was all over. _This is your only chance at this_

“El-Eliot,” Quentin felt his brain short-circuit as Eliot ran his tongue slow up the length of his cock, swirling around his head before taking him down once more, but then he pulled off. He came further up the bed as he reached for the side table to grab the bottle and condom. But before he could head back down, Quentin grabbed him by the face, pulling him in for a searing kiss. Eliot moaned softly, one of his own hands coming around to hold his face as he kissed back. They continued for a few minutes like that, but as Eliot brought his free hand down to stroke at Quentin’s cock, he broke the kiss with a gasp, bucking up into Eliot’s hand. He took the opportunity to slip back down the bed, and rubbed his hands across Quentin’s thighs.

“I want you. So bad.” Quentin said

“I know, baby. I’m gonna take such good care of you.” His response reminded him so much of how Eliot spoke to him at the mosaic that tears sprung to his eyes, but he blinked them back, focusing on the present. On the sound of Eliot popping open the bottle of lube and spreading it over his fingers.

He moaned as Eliot lightly touched his hole, already greedy for more even though he knows he hasn’t done this in years, and slow prep is for the best.

Eliot slowly inserted a finger while rubbing his other hand down his thigh. The tenderness calmed him as he got adjusted to the intrusion. After a couple of minutes Eliot added a second finger, still going almost painfully slow. Quentin cried out when he inserted the third, half pain and half pleasure. Eliot slowed down automatically.

“Are you okay?” he asked

“Yeah, I’m fine. Please don’t stop.” Quentin replied, moving one hand to rest on Eliot’s shoulder. He did as requested, slowly moving his fingers in and out, in and out. Eventually it was too much. “I need- I need you El.”

“What do you need, baby?” He said, fingers still moving in him at a torturously slow pace.

“You- I need you. Oh God El please fuck me.” He cried, looking down at the gorgeous man between his legs. “Please,”

Within a second Eliot was back to him, kissing him senseless. His fingers were still buried deep within him, and Quentin felt like he couldn’t breathe. It was all too perfect.

All too soon though Eliot was pulling away, ripping open the condom wrapper and pulling it over himself. Quentin couldn’t believe he was here, about to be fucked by the man he was still in love with, but couldn’t admit that. He forced the dark thought from his mind and instead focused on where Eliot was lubing himself up and lining up with his hole. Their eyes met, and there was something unreadable going on in Eliot’s eyes. He hated that he couldn’t discern everything about the man anymore, desperately wanting to know what he was thinking.

But then Eliot was slowly pushing in, and every single thought was pushed from his mind except for _Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god._ Eliot was so big and Quentin felt like he was nearly being torn in half, but felt nothing but pleasure as he pushed in further, before long he was fully seated. He’d never felt so full before, and doubted he ever would again.

Eliot pulled out, and before he could register the emptiness, he slammed forward again, burying himself deeper than before. Quentin practically screamed out a long moan, only getting louder as Eliot did it again, and again. Fuck, he was seeing stars. None of his memories properly prepared him for what the real thing was like, and suddenly wished they actually had lived their lives at the Mosaic, and weren’t just left with the weird fuzzy memories that they couldn’t explain why they even had.

Eliot fell down with his arms bracketing Quentin on either side, and his thrusts shifted to be faster but less strong, still managing to feel just as good though, and Quentin took the opportunity of his closeness to kiss him again.

 _Fuck_. Now he was sure nothing would ever feel as good as this ever again. It was all so perfect he could almost forget about what their situation currently was. They could still be at the Mosaic, just spending a perfect night together just like any other, and the next night they could do it all over again. Quentin could steal kisses all day long as they worked, spirits high. They could spend another night like this, but hushed as to avoid waking Teddy after they’d finally managed to get him to bed. It could be like the day Teddy went to visit his girlfriend’s family and they took the rare opportunity to make love on the day bed outside, something they hadn’t done since the first 3 years of the mosaic. Just like this but with whispered promises of love shared between them. He remembered the cuddling afterwards, feeling just as good in a different way, still raw from the mind-blowing sex they always seemed to have. Quentin often joked that maybe Eliot _did_ have a magic dick, but Eliot just pushed his shoulder and laughed him off. Then there was their 2 year anniversary of their arrival at the mosaic, their 1 year anniversary. There was no Teddy and no Arielle. Just the two of them, finally both willing to tell each other of their love for each other, and saying it whenever they pleased. Over breakfast, while Quentin worked on placing the tiles in a new pattern, or while Eliot wrote it down after it failed, or when dinner turned into a quickie over the island, or later that night, when they were having sex in their bed, feeling blissed and out of his mind.

It was all so perfect. Every single memory was filled with love, and everything about this moment made Quentin as blissed as he had been that night. He was still moaning loudly, and Eliot had shifted his pace slightly, slowing down enough to make every thrust out feel painfully erotic.

“Fuck, El. Fuck I’m- I’m so close. Please. Eliot.” His thrusts quickened in speed once more and Quentin could practically cry from the perfect stimulation. “God, El, yes” he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop himself, it was all too perfect. “Oh my god. Please don’t stop. Fuck, there, right there. Fuck, _Eliot_ , I love you so much, right there.”

Eliot’s whole body twitched, but Quentin didn’t have the mental capacity to figure out why. Anyway, Eliot’s whole body froze as he came deep inside of Quentin, and then he collapsed on top of him. The pressure of his body on his neglected cock and the feeling of Eliot’s still throbbing as he comes is enough to send Quentin over the edge as well, spilling his load between their bodies.

He’s pretty sure he blacks out for at least a few minutes, his mind absolutely blown. When he comes back to Eliot is already running a wet cloth across his chest. Once he’s decided Quentin is clean, he sits up.

“That was fun.” He starts “But I should… go.”

“Oh,” Quentin says dumbly

Eliot doesn’t move right away though, so Quentin places his hand on his shoulder. “Or you could, you know, stay?”

Eliot swallows harshly, and with his eyes still closed he replies “I don’t think that’s wise, Quentin.”

He stares down at the sheets still wrapped around him and after a moment, Eliot moves, picking up his underwear and pants and starting to dress again. He’s suddenly filled with guilt. Of course he’d managed to fuck everything up between them. He tries to think of words that can fix whatever he’s managed to break while Eliot dresses in a new shirt, but he only comes up empty.

Eliot breaks the silence once he’s fully dressed again, Quentin still wrapped in the soft sheets, “I’m going to go back downstairs, but, take your time.”

Quentin starts panicking, feeling like he needs to say something now or he’d never get another chance. “El, wait.” He says quickly, just as Eliot’s hand reaches his doorknob “I’m sorry, are- are we okay?”

Eliot turns, giving him a sad little smile. “Of course we’re okay Q.”

Quentin get’s the feeling neither of them believes his words, but he can’t think of how to reply, and then Eliot is gone, door closed behind him. Quentin gathers his clothes and heads to his own room, and if a few stray tears escape as he tries to fall asleep, well no one but him is there to know they’ve fallen.

The next few weeks seem like the action never stops, and with Eliot back in Fillory he doesn’t have the time to talk to him anyway. And soon they’re on the Muntjac headed to the Castle at the End of the World, and he’s offered to take Ora’s place _Not like there’s any reason to stay with them anymore_ and everyone complains, but he’s adamant. And then suddenly the Monster is in front of him, and suddenly Eliot is shooting it, and suddenly he’s Brian.

And everything is okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. I promise I started writing this wanting to give them a happy ending, but then that didn't happen, and canon ended up winning. What can I say, these two are idiots who can't talk to each other.  
> This is my first real fic in a long time (and my first ever sex scene, didn't know I could do that) so please let me know what you think


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